"What an honour!" laughed Mavis, saying the first words which came into her head. The next moment she would have given much to have been able to recall them. "For me," said Windebank gravely. "And I know I'd have made you happy." "I believe you would," admitted Mavis, wishing to atone for her thoughtless remark. As if moved by a common impulse, they crossed Lupus Street and sought the first quiet thoroughfare which presented itself. This happened to be Cambridge Street, along the shabby pretentiousness of which they walked for some minutes in silence, each occupied with their thoughts. "How did you find out where I was?" she asked. "Miss Toombs." "You've seen her?" "She sent me 'Halverton Street' written on a piece of paper. I guessed what it meant." "You spoke to her before about me?" "Yes. I was anxious to know what had become of you." "You needn't have bothered." "I couldn't help myself." "You really, really cared?" "A bit. And now I see what a fool you've been---" "It won't make any difference," she interrupted. "What do you mean?" he asked quickly. "It won't make any difference to me. I'm to be married any day now." "What's that?" he asked quickly. Mavis repeated her statement. "To whom?" "The man I love; whom else?" "Are you counting on that?" "Of course," she answered, surprised at the question. She wondered what he could mean, but she could get no enlightenment from his face, which preserved a sphinx-like impenetrability. "What are you thinking of?" she asked. "How best to help you." "I'm not in need of help: besides, I can take care of myself." "H'm! Where were you going when I met you?" "Shopping." "May I come too?" "It wouldn't interest you." "How long can you spare?" "Not long. Why?" They had now reached the Wilton Road. By way of reply to her question, he elbowed her into one of the pretentious restaurants which lined the side of the thoroughfare on which they walked. "I'm not hungry," she protested. "Do as you're told," he replied, urging her to a table. He called the waiter and ordered an elaborate meal to be brought with all dispatch. He then took off the light overcoat covering his evening clothes before joining Mavis, who was surprised to see how much older he was looking. "What are you staring at?" he asked. "You. Have you had trouble?" "Yes," he replied, looking her hard in the eyes. "I'm sorry," she remarked, dropping hers. As if to leaven her previous ungraciousness, Mavis ate as much of the food as she could. She noticed, however, that, beyond sipping his wine, Windebank merely made pretence of eating: but for all his remissness with regard to his own needs, he was full of tender concern for her comfort. "You're eating nothing," she presently remarked. "Like our other meal in Regent Street." She nodded reminiscently. "You hadn't forgotten?" "It was the night I left you in the fog." "Like the little fool you were!"